Laurel crowns cleave to deserts And power to him who power exerts; Hast not thy share? On winged feet, Lo! it rushes thee to meet; . . .

Books that distribute things... with as daring a freedom as we use in dreams, put us on our feet again.

Many have paid lip service to philosophy, but these men served it with their whole heart. He tastes nothing who has not tasted for himself.

The soul exists partly in eternity and partly in time.

You are running to seek your friend. Let your feet run, but your mind need not.

The fate of the poor shepherd, who, blinded and lost in the snow-storm, perishes in a drift within a few feet of his cottage door, is an emblem of the state of man.

No man can claim to usurp more than a few cubic feet of the audibilities of a public room. . . .